Completed Secrets of the Sea

[Faramund]

'So long as that word is "handsome," carve away!' It had been a considerably long time since Faramund had taken his fellow dawnling's threats seriously. Monroe liked to bluster and scowl and shoot daggers at anyone that came within stabbing distance, but she was harmless, really.

Meanroe, as some of the squires had taken to calling her, was just a façade - a mask she put on to protect herself from the world.

No-one took the time to get close to her, to see the woman behind the mask. Faramund had.

And thus she had rewarded him. With friendship, of all things. Funny, that. 'You don't have to explain yourself to me, Roe,' the knight rumbled, his voice as warm as the sand beneath their boots. 'It's a good name, for what it's worth. Why you chose to adopt it isn't nearly as important as why you chose to keep it all these years.'

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Faramund wandered out onto the beach. The sand here was like molten gold, crunching and shifting underfoot. Choosing a spot close to the surf, Faramund sat down.

Stretching his legs towards the sea, he used his teeth to pull the stopper from his bottle. Then, almost as an afterthought, he looked back up at his friend.

'If you're okay with it, I'd like to raise a toast. To you!' He lifted the wine. 'Monroe Cathmore! A loyal -if somewhat scary at times- friend.'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

She followed him out to the sand, using a little heat at the neck of the bottle to force the cork free. She knew one of the first things she will do is to remove her boots and socks, and dip her feet into the water.

Monroe came to sit beside her friend, casting him an incredulous look as he proposed the toast in her honour. Not many could call themself friends with herself, but Faramund figured out just the right — and sometimes wrong — thing to say to get her to crack a smile.

"Oh, you're full of shit, Fara." She joined him in his toast, taking a hearty swig before pushing his shoulder back. "Then indulge me. A toast to you, my one and only friend in this world. I don't remember how I ever accepted such a thing, but it has got to be a charm of yours."

Dark brows raised in challenge, as if to bait him in denying what they knew was true.

"And a toast to the sea... and what the water can do for one's soul." Monroe lifted her bottle and nodded her head to the gentle, glistening waters, drenched in the descending sun's light.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'To the sea!' And what it can do for one's soul. Washing away a frown before it could settle, Faramund stared out to sea. 'Kind of sad, when you think about it,' he paused, mulling over his thoughts before giving voice to them. 'Am I really the only friend you have, Roe? I find it difficult to believe.'

No doubt she would have some answer for that. Maybe a little venom to go with it.

He was immune to that shit. 'Fuck, listen to me! One beer in and I'm already getting weepy,' he laughed, nudging Roe with his elbow. 'Must be the salt in the air. Gods, but ain't this a sight to behold!' A smile formed, free and true for as long as it held.

'Wonder if the waters here really could wash away the burdens of the soul.' He had many, more than he had ever confessed to his friend and confidant.

'Could always... take a dip... if you wanted?' He eyed her, a grin splitting his features sure as any axe-blade.

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe rolled her brown eyes, leaning back onto one elbow and staring out to sea. "Ask me that again after this bottle is polished off, alright?" And even then, she will choose not to answer.

And it was with unimpressed eyes she looked to his winning grin, his suggestion making her snort with laughter after a moment. "Did you sneak another beer somewhere? Or was your water skin filled with whisky all day?" She shook her head at him, her short hair bouncing with the movement.

"I do not want to jump into the water in these clothes, *Syr* Faramund." Monroe shot him one last look of doubt before drinking a fair amout of her wine. "I think I look rather nice in this new clothing." Much too nice to ruin in the sea.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Then, I'll just have to try and get you out of them,' replied Faramund, as brave as he was stupid. 'But you're right, they do look nice on you.' He hadn't much of a fashion sense to speak of, per se. On his ever-growing list of priorities, it was somewhere near the bottom, right next to learning his letters.

He'd get there, eventually. Assuming he lived that long.

In this business, probably not. Taking a swig of wine, Faramund stretched out beside Monroe, an arm cushioning his head as he stared up at the sky. The sound of the waves as they crashed upon the shoreline was almost soothing. Hells, it would have been, if not for the distant screeching of gulls attacking the catches piled high along the wharves.

'I hope you don't think I'm trying to take advantage,' he spoke softly between sips of wine. 'After two long weeks in the saddle, we could both do with a thorough dunking, wouldn't you agree?'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe appraised him with amusement, snorting after a moment. "That is what bath houses are for, my friend." She took a deep breath in, inhaling the familiar calms of the beach, the gulls only adding to her serenity.

With a contented sigh, she fell back and laid herself on the sand. It felt warm under the bake of the sun, but it soon cooled. "No, you're right. A dip would do us some good, although i wouldn't want to give those up there on the hill something to look at." A hand went to veil her eyes, looking around the coastline and pointing out a small little cove away from prying eyes.

"You're not afraid are you? You said the sea hides many things. Afraid of swimming with sharks?" Her bottle of wine nudged at his shoulder before being buried into the sand at her side. "Because I am not going to hand hold you."

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'I'm not afraid, I've got you looking out for me.' Monroe had the smile of a shark, and the instincts of one too. Probably. Something nudged his shoulder. Opening one eye, Faramund winked up at his fellow dawnling, quietly comfortable in spite of his earlier griping. 'We have company, do we?'

Sitting up slightly, he turned to gaze up the hill towards the village.

'Hells! Who do you think they're here for? You or me?' Turning back to Monroe, he sat up fully. Wine sloshed around as he used a hand to shield his eyes. The cove she had pointed out was just a short walk away. Naturally-formed, and surrounded on three sides by steep cliffs, Faramund was pleased to see it was sandy beach all the way there and back.

Sniffing, he looked to the horizon.

'Should be a full moon tonight,' he wagered confidently, kicking off his boots and settling back into the sand. 'Let's finish the wine first. Then, we can go.'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

"Oh, please. They obviously are here to watch a stunner like myself." She leaned up a little in order to drink her wine, placing it back in the sand at her side and catching a droplet that fell from her lip with her thumb.

Then she shed her jacket, rolling it up to lay her head against as she comfortably turned her gaze to the sky. "You're making this quite romantic, Syr. I cannot blame you, the sea is the strongest siren call I know." She turned her head to look at him, holding back a grin. "I am just glad you hear it's call too. Otherwise it would be fairly sad if I was to wallow alone on the sand."

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Give it time. I'm sure I'll come to my senses.' Smiling, Faramund resisted the call of the sea as it tried to lull him to sleep. Monroe was right. The low roar of the waves called to him, beckoning him closer. The distant peals of laughter added to the effect, and Faramund felt himself slipping into a pool of calm unlike any he had experienced in his time with the Order.

Or her.

'Y'know, I think you're quite possibly the first person to ever accuse me of being romantic,' he grinned, content to just lie back and sky-watch with Monroe for as long as the moment lasted. 'Thanks. It's nice to be appreciated for a change.' He stifled a laugh.

'And before you say it, yes, I am full of shit!'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

"You know, I do not appreciate the fact you steal words right out of my mouth." Monroe stifled her snort, turning on her side to face him as she fetches her bottle for another swig. "So, I will have to say this: the accusation was merely sarcasm. I don't think you can fully commit to being romantic at all."

Her brows raised in challenge, silencing herself with another swig of her bottle. It was half empty, but she showed no signs of savouring it. That wasn't her style.

"You're bound to say something to ruin it all." She concluded with a shrug. "Remember that time we got snowed in overnight in the barracks of some town? We almost got too close, until you said," Monroe dug her bottle into the sand again before continuing, "'You should smile more, Roe. Maybe you won't have such a hard time being grumpy all the time.'"

She wasn't smiling no more.

 

[Faramund]

Faramund stayed facing the sky. 'I remember,' he replied, not even thinking about denying it. To do so would have been to drive an even bigger wedge between them. Rolling onto his side, the wine all but forgotten, he met Monroe's stare head-on. 'I remember how it felt, after.' He had never seen Monroe act so distant as she had that night.

It hurt just picturing it.

But that was the point, wasn't it? To see if he really could feel. 'What're you getting at, Roe?' He asked, suddenly tired of the games they played, the banter that never led anywhere.

'How close is too close?'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe's face set in with a scowl. She wanted to avoid answering, to get up and stalk off the beach on her own.

But she knew her friend. He would only follow. Anyone else they knew would have simply leave her be, but not Faramund.

"Close enough that I wondered if I was a down right idiot for thinking... there was more to this. Us."

And so she settled for laying back on the sand and glaring at the orange and pinks in the sky. "You're my only friend. How foolish of me to ruin the only good thing I have going right now..." Suppose she should slow down with the wine since it was making her lips loose. It was confusing for her, to be so comfortable with him that walls put in place for good measure were disregarded.

"I hate that I cannot always place the blame on you. Because even if you said a variation of what I recall, you meant it in jest and I took the easy route and got mad." Well, fuck it. Alcohol was doing it's best with her, and so Monroe sat up to drink some more.

"I am just afraid... of what it all means." She stared at the sea now. "What you actually mean to me and I don't want to ruin it." Like she ruined a good many things for herself, if she was to be completely honest with herself.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

His chest ached. Smiling to hide the pain, Faramund rolled onto his back. 'You're no fool, Roe. Believe me, I'd know!' An old joke, no funnier than the first time he'd told it. Still, it never hurt to try. 'I stand by what I said, by the way. You could do to smile more.' He hated seeing her upset or sad. Course, he could never admit to such a thing for risk of damaging his reputation.

His reputation? Ha! Another joke as old as time.

Sitting up, Faramund took a long, long pull of his wine. It burned as it went down, and, knowing his luck, it would no doubt burn when he brought it up later. Yippee! 'You're a good woman, Roe, and I'm honoured to be your friend.' He paused, turned to look her in the eye. 'It was... wrong of me, to put such ideas in your head.'

No, that isn't right.

'In truth, I may have been thinking it, too. About us. What we could have been, if not for fear of fucking it all up.' Hells, he was still at risk of that. Even so, if there was one thing they both knew, it was that he didn't give up easy.

Maybe that was why they had become friends in the first place.

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe laughed, a strained and amused sound that bubbled past her lips.

"Well, look at that. Seems we are both prone to fucking things up for ourselves. What a pair that would make us." She snorted.

She sighed, taking a moment to think, to just... assess this right now.

"Right," she reached a hand out to take his, interlacing her fingers with his and held it up for them both to see, "then we are both agreed that our friendship is what we value most, no matter what. Right?" She turned her head to face him, knowing full well they looked like idiots.

"That will never change. And I am going to promise that right now so... do your worst, Faramund. We can put it to the test, and know that... no matter how badly we fuck up somewhere, we will be friends. In fact, I will make you a friendship... something... out of shells! To commemorate this moment right here!" Her hold was like a vice, not intending on letting him off the hook so quickly.

"We are a team, no matter what. No secrets between us..." She made a face as she realised she blurted that out too quickly. "Well... I will withhold some things... but in time, I may share."

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Faramund felt his hand fit into hers, and he squeezed as she did the same. 'They are your secrets to keep, Roe,' he smiled, grateful for the fading light and how it hid his face so well. If she could have seen his expression in that moment, she probably would have accused him of having gone soft.

Perhaps he had.

'Share them, if sharing helps. If not...' He shrugged. Souls were complex things. Feelings, equally so. He barely understood his own most days; from the way she was talking, maybe Roe was the same.

'Big promise to make, Roe. I can be a real pain in the arse sometimes. So much so, in fact, that you might feel the sudden, distinct urge to stick a knife in me.' But then he doubted she was alone in that boat. Drinking his wine down to the last drop, he buried the empty bottle in the sand at his feet.

He squeezed her hand again.

'Come on!' He grumbled, climbing to his feet. 'Let's go find some shells before it gets too dark.' Turning to take both her hands in his, he lifted Monroe to her feet. Sand clung to their clothes, getting into places he'd rather not mention. 'Whose idea was it to sit down again?' He asked, looking into her eyes, a wry smile on his lips.

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Unable to deny his assistance in helping her to her feet, Monroe braced herself and pulled herself up, dusting herself off to no avail. She scooped up her wine bottle and tucked it into the crook of her arm before looking up at Faramund, just in time to see him do that smile she now found irritating.

Why was it irritating?

Was it the eye contact he gave her too? That mixture of emotions that it brought out in her, quickly dampened down as she busied herself in dusting off more sand. "I know I am usually full of good ideas, but, alas, I cannot take credit for that idea." She lifted a hand to the back of her head, where brown hair brush the back of her neck and tickled the skin there. She could not wait to grow it out longer, but also knew she would cut it shorter again once day.

"There was some fishing line by the stairs. I am sure they won't mind if we pinch a few lengths of it." Her fingers wrapped around the beck of the bottle and pulled it free, taking a drink that surely would leave enough for one more taste. By the time she finished it, she made a face and wiped her lips from the droplets that found their way to settle there, painting her lips in a darker red.

She moved her bottle to sit beside Faramund's empty one, straightening and turning to face him. "Good thing I have a blade small enough to make holes in the shells." Monroe winked at him.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Even if they did, I doubt they'd be able to argue.' Only idiots fought battles they could never win. Arguing with Monroe was like playing pin the tail on the donkey... only the donkey had a loaded crossbow and the will to use it. 'I'd best get to looking, then!' He said in answer to Roe's statement.

He had a blade, too. But she was the one who loved all things ocean.

Walking back to the steps, Faramund plundered a couple lengths of fishing line, careful not to cut away more than was necessary for the task. The watchers on the hill had disappeared from sight. 'Guess they didn't want to stay for the show,' he commented, strolling back to Monroe and on down to the water's edge. The sun was gone now, over the horizon to rest.

Searching by moonlight, the two knights scoured the beach for shells Monroe deemed suitable. Of course, she picked the "pretty" ones. To Faramund, they were just shells.

But he understood the gesture of friendship, the significance behind the act.

'I think we've gathered enough now,' he said after a time spent sifting through the sand. Looking up, he realised they had stumbled into the cove. The lights of the settlement glowed behind them, while out to sea a lone lantern burned aboard a shape as black as the cliffs towering over them.

Walking over to Monroe, he offered up the gathered shells in tribute.

'Would you do the honours?'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe humoured him with a smile, dropping her bounty carefully onto the sandy rock jutting out from the wall, cupping her hands to receive Faramund's spoils of his own hunt. "Some of these are too small..." but she shrugged and added it to the collection.

She reached into her pocket and brought out her silver hair pin, the end of which looked perfect to chip away a hole into the shells they collected.

Before she could get to poking holes, ready to thread their treasures onto the line, she lifted the fishing line and went to measure it around his neck. She was stood close, brows furrowed in concentration as she determined how much excess she needed to cut off.

"Don't panic. I am not playing on suffocating you." Her eyes lifted to meet his, a small, wicked smile lifting at her lips. "At least, not like this."

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Are you saying that so I lower my guard or because you mean it?' He questioned, shutting up as Monroe wound the fishing line around his neck. If there was one thing he had realised over the years, it was his innate ability to speak often but say little.

She's smiling, he thought, feeling one of his own coming on. She's actually, really smiling.

Keeping his gaze fixed on the cliff-face behind her head, Faramund focused on remaining calm as Monroe stepped a fraction closer. He could feel her breath on his skin, as soft and gentle as the sea lapping against the shore at his back. Warm, her fingers brushed his neck and throat as she adjusted the line so-so.

'When is it my turn?' He asked her, resisting the temptation to look into her eyes. 'If you wanted to cop a feel, you could've just asked.'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

With one last remeasure, Monroe took a step back and smiled wickedly up at him. "I have to ask for permission do I?" And a light laugh danced on her lips as she turned back to cut the excess off the fishing line. Taking the other one, she wound it around her neck, but her hair being that little longer than she wanted it to be only got in the way.

"Alright then, I give you permission to feel me up. Make sure you do it right." Monroe turned around, holding the fishing line with her fingers. "Can you hold my hair up for me?" She would not trust his judgement on how much line was needed to decorate with shells and tie off into an adjustable necklace.

It was true they had not bathed in some days, but the floral and sweet scent stayed in her hair. That would wash away in the sea soon enough, but they --- really Monroe ---- had friendship necklaces to make before all else.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Yes, Syr!' Shaking his head in amusement, the big dawnling stepped up behind Monroe, sand shifting under his weight. He liked seeing this side of her. The laughter, the wicked smiles that made him want to smile himself. She made what they were doing feel like a competition - one in which Faramund knew he was outclassed.

Taking up the challenge, he held her hair back as she went to work with the fishing line. His fingers brushed gently at her throat and the back of her neck. An accident, surely.

'Lavender,' he spoke quietly, the closeness they shared making his mind wonder. 'Classic.'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

She was glad he could not see her face, watch how she pursed her lips as she tried not to say something as her fingers measured the line a third time to be sure. She let her hands down, turning to look at Faramund and some of her hair fell from his hand. "I like what I like. Besides, someone said to me it eases anxiety." She shrugged, slowly stepping away to cut the line and leaned against the rock face to slowly start to skewer delicate holes into the shells.

"It's my soap, the lavender. With orange blossom and vanilla..." Why was she talking about her soap? Monroe did not want to admit she liked how his fingers brushed at her neck, and that she wouldn't have minded if he brushed circles there in future.

"Here, come help me fill the fishing line with the shells once I punch holes in them." She offered, lifting her gaze at him and smiling softly. They only had minutes before the last light was gone and they would be left in darkness. "You can make that one for me, and I can do this one for you. Deal?"

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Eases anxiety? Could do with some o' that myself. Nodding, Faramund held out his hand as Monroe cut him a deal. The light was fleeting fast, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint her. 'Let's get to it, then,' he said, taking a seat on a nearby rock.

He could smell seaweed, rotting somewhere in the dark. Seabirds nested in the high cliffs above, watching their progress with rapt attention despite their inability to understand.

'Big shells in the middle, little'uns on the outside?' He asked, picking up shells and threading them whilst Monroe continued to punch holes. 'Like this, yeah?' Holding up one of the finished necklaces, he let it dangle loose in the space between them. Moonlight caught the curved shells as they spun gently in the sea breeze. White-grey and gold.

And honey-brown.

'Reckon it would look good on you. Hells. Might even look good on me!' Smiling, Faramund gathered the necklace into his upturned palm. 'Here,' he said, warmth in his voice and fire in his eyes. 'Try it on, see what you think!'

Monroe

 

[Monroe]

Monroe began threading through shells onto the line she fitted for Faramund, and could not keep the small smile of concentration off her face. It was ridiculous what they were doing, but it also was fun and different to do this with Faramund when she spent her childhood trying to sell bracelets and necklaces, and earrings too, out of the shells she'd find on the beach and in the low tide.

She tied the ends, making sure it could adjust on length and turned to Faramund with an excited expression. "Let me fit this on you first." She extended it wider to fit over his head before leaning upwards onto her tip toes to then adjust it around his neck and let it sit a moment before looking at her work.

"You look so pretty now." She grinned, looking up into his eyes. "My turn!" And she ran her fingers through her hair, holding the ends of it out of the way for Faramund to place his creation around her neck.

"It is official now, Faramund. No matter what may happen, we have this to fall back onto. Our friendship." Her eyes still held his, and she did her best not to realise the small distance between them.

Faramund

 

[Faramund]

He looked pretty already but that wasn't the point. Bowing his head in mock gratitude, the big dawnling smiled, nodded. 'No matter what,' he agreed, 'a promise is a promise.' Faramund tried to keep his. Fate sometimes intervened, but the knight knew he could not put all his past failings down to that most ficklesome of ideas.

Smiling, he slipped the necklace around Monroe's pale neck.

'One moment!' He urged, tying off the ends and making sure the seashells sat just right against the soft swell of her chest. He could feel his own necklace digging into the fabric of his shirt, a reminder of the bond they shared.

Now and always.

Nodding, satisfied with his work, Faramund took Monroe's chin between thumb and forefinger. Her eyes, like dark pools of warmth, drowned out all conscious thought as he leaned in. Closer, closer.

He kissed her, then. Firmly. Fiercely. The fear of rejection -of reprisal- was long gone from his mind. Only she remained.

Breaking the kiss, he straightened to look into her eyes. A fire had been stoked in his chest, and he could feel it burning him up, bit by bit. 'That's your fault,' he said, admiring her beauty, even as he leaned in for another kiss.

Monroe